


Catch!

by Nkala99



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nkala99/pseuds/Nkala99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you’re done playing with the deadly rage monster, Agent Barton, we’d like to finish securing the scene,” Coulson shot back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch!

**Author's Note:**

> Just playing around with yet another new universe. This is just a short blurb that popped into my head while I brainstormed other plot ideas.
> 
> As a further note, I do not do any ships. Het or slash. Also, Coulson lives. Just FYI.
> 
> Cross-posted to ff.net.

The sound of boots slapping against pavement as they drew nearer was the only warning Agent Coulson had before one of SHIELD’s newer junior agents skidded to a halt behind him.  “Sir!”

Coulson ended his phone call, tossing the cell with ease to Agent Sitwell before turning to the new arrival.  “Yes, Junior Agent Howell?”

Howell was sucking in gasps of air.  Coulson made a mental note to schedule additional time in the gym for the latest SHIELD recruits.

“It’s . . . it’s the Hulk, sir,” he stammered.

Coulson’s expression remained bland and unimpressed.  With the action winding down, Hulk duty had fallen to several agents.  They had all been trained to calm the Hulk down enough to prevent further damage to the city beyond what was unavoidable in battle.  If Howell was here instead of seeing to Banner . . .

“What about him?” Coulson demanded.

“He’s . . . he’s not listening,” Howell reported.  “And . . . and Agent Barton-.”

Sudden panic seized Coulson, evident only as the agent’s eyes hardened.  He pressed a hand to his ear piece.  “Barton!  Report!”

A loud ‘whoop!’ answered him.  “ _Bit busy, Coulson!_ ”

Coulson felt his anxiety abate slightly at the response.  “Junior Agent Howell seems to think there’s trouble with the Hulk.”

“I _think . . . the problem . . . is with the baby agents._ ”  Clint’s voice sounded winded.  “ _Hulk’s fine._ ”

A roar, followed by the Hulk bellowing about a birdie caused Coulson to shut his eyes in abrupt exasperation.  “Barton, tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”

“ _Someone . . . had to calm him down,_ ” Clint replied, evading the plea.

Coulson began walking to Hulk’s last known location.  As he turned down the next street, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

The Hulk was standing in the middle of the road, a horrifying grin on his face.  He was utterly focused on tossing something high into the air and catching it.

That something being one Agent Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton.

Captain America and Black Widow were busy directing clean-up efforts and securing the scene.  Thor and Iron Man, however, were watching the Hulk toss Clint into the air.  Clint, ever the showman, executed perfectly timed tumbles and flips before landing back into the Hulk’s hands.

“Catch Birdie!” Hulk yelled.

“Thirty-eight!” Iron Man called out.

“I thought I told you to stop letting him do that,” Coulson told Clint pointedly over the radio.

“ _What, Hulk . . . tossing me in the air . . . or Tony . . . placing bets on it?_ ” Clint asked, never once breaking his stride.  “ _Because . . . I hate to . . . break it to you . . . but I don’t think . . . either one . . . wants to stop._ ”

“Forty-seven,” Iron Man chimed in.

Coulson turned to level a chilling glare on Howell, who had followed him.  “The whole reason your team was assigned to calm the Hulk was so that this sort of thing doesn’t happen.”

Howell quailed at the anger from the senior agent.

Clint’s voice spoke up in his ear again.  “ _Careful, Phil . . . he looks like . . . he’s about to wet himself._ ”

Of _course_ Hawkeye could see their exchange.  Coulson rolled his eyes.

“If you’re done playing with the deadly rage monster, Agent Barton, we’d like to finish securing the scene,” Coulson shot back.

“I believe it’s more a question of whether or not the deadly rage monster is done playing with him,” Natasha supplied helpfully, suddenly standing at Coulson’s shoulder. 

Coulson’s lips thinned, thought Natasha couldn’t tell if it was in amusement or annoyance.  “Not helping.”

Annoyance, then.  “I’m sorry, was I supposed to be?” Natasha replied primly.

“Fifty-Nine!” Iron Man called out.

Steve joined them.  “All right, Hawkeye, we’re all clear.”

Clint executed one more flip, then angled his next jump to carry him away from the Hulk’s seeking hands to land on one of Hulk’s broad shoulders.  He patted the Hulk on the head, smiling. 

“Time to rest now, big guy,” he said

Coulson shook his head.  “I’m not sure if I’m more stunned or horrified that the Hulk lets him get away with that.”

“Definitely horrified,” Steve replied.

Hulk gently lifted Clint from his shoulder and set him on the street.  As soon as Clint’s boots touched the ground, the Hulk began to shrink back down into Bruce’s familiar form.  Agents from Howell’s team rushed forward with blankets to assist the weary doctor.

“Not fair!” Iron Man protested.  “I still had seven more to go!”

“Sorry, Stark,” Natasha said.  “The bet was only for how long it took Cap and me to finish the clean-up.”

“What was the final count?” Clint asked, sauntering up to the group with a cocky grin in place.

“Sixty-two, counting dismount,” Tony said, his displeasure at losing evident in his tone.

“That makes Thor the winner this time,” Natasha added.

“Then tonight we shall dine on barnyard fowl and toasted cakes!” Thor exclaimed enthusiastically.

“What _exactly_ was the wager?” Coulson asked.

“Winner got to choose where we eat to celebrate,” Steve told him.  “Thor somehow heard about chicken and waffles and wants to try them.  Would you like to join us?”

Coulson looked from Thor eagerly asking for the nearest restaurant that served his desired meal to Clint and Tony arguing over the best diner to take the team. 

  “On one condition,” Coulson replied.  “We take him to the diner on seventy-second street.  They’re more or less used to more unusual clientele.  The less people we alarm, the better.”

“New bet!” Tony called out.  “How many plates of chicken and waffles can Point Break pack away?”

Steve smiled ruefully at Coulson.  “Seventy-second it is.”

END


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